


Carseat Inspection

by mint_julep



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: F/M, Feels, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7460679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mint_julep/pseuds/mint_julep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick and Judy pull carseat inspection duty. The experience makes them both think.<br/>Post-movie, pre-relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carseat Inspection

”Something you wanted to tell me, Carrots? Did that blind date last week go better than you let on?”

A sea of carseats litters the floor by the desk he shares with his partner Judy. The largest couldn’t fit in Finnick’s van. The smallest could fit in his paw.

”You have no one to blame but yourself, Slick.” Judy pokes her head around a rhino-scaled carseat as tall as she is. “If you’d been on time this morning, I'm sure _you_ could have talked Bogo into something more exciting than carseat inspection duty.”

”Flattery only gets you so far.” Nick spins on his hind paw. Whack! A miniature booster seat hits the back of his head. “Carrots!”

”Help me practice on these straps.”

”Isn’t this the bailiwick of our fine counterparts at the Department of Transpo?”

”You know ZDOT isn’t any better than the DMV. The kids would be driving by the time they got the carseats installed.”

”Hmph. If I get one sticky lollipawp matted in my impeccable fur…”

”…says the fox who routinely waded in pawpsicle slush.”

Nick feigns complete insult and injury. Judy punches his arm. “Start downloading manuals, Wilde.”

\-----

Judy knows better than to admit to Nick's face that she didn’t want carseat inspection duty any more than he.

As she scrounges for more practice seats in the equipment room, she shudders at the memory of Chief Bogo's booming comment, "after all, you're from Bunnyburrow, it shouldn't be a problem."

Judy had bristled and given an impassioned speech about assumptions and bunnies and lots of children and carseats, only to have Bogo reply, "there _is_ a carseat factory in Bunnyburrow, is there not, Hopps?"

Shudder. "Right. Yes, correct, sir. Of course. We won't let you down."

After that, Judy didn't dare confess to Bogo that in Bunnyburrow, most of the time kits just rode in the back of their parents' pickup truck. Sometimes it was better to be labeled a rabbit than a hick.

 _The truth is,_ she thinks to herself, _I don't know the first thing about kids and carseats._

\-----

"Take all the donut holes you want! _Squeeeeeee!_ " Clawhauser rests his face in his hands, grinning. "Carseat duty is the cutest duty of them all!"

"Thanks. I'm going to need all the bribes I can get my paws on. And a lot more coffee." As Nick heads to the station garage, he smirks at the thought of his parents coming in to a police station for something like an official carseat inspection. Sure, his mother would have if they'd had a carseat. Or a car.

But he can imagine what his father would have said. "Nick doesn't need anything fancy like a carseat," he would have sneered. "A few dings might help toughen him up."

 _I hope Judy knows what she's doing,_ he thinks. _When it comes to kids and carseats, you're way out of your league, Slick._

\-----

"WAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!" Judy can hardly think over the high-pitched cry coming out of the baby cougar's muzzle, about two inches from her amplifying ears.

"You want a crickie? Another crickie for my baby cougy?" The mother tries desperately to calm him, but all the baby can think is: _hate carseat hate buckles hate strange rabbit_. 

"I'm almost done -- just need to get the straps adjusted at or below his shoulders." Judy glares at Nick as she struggles to work around the thrashing ball of cougar fluff. He's busy leaning against an old generator and stifling a laugh.

The baby cougar spits in Judy's face. "No more crickies for you!" the horrified mother gasps.

"OK, OK, Carrots, you've earned my pity. I got this."

Nick takes his own tail and pretends it's chasing him. He pretends to run and duck from the tail, manipulating it with one paw to make it seem as though the tail is almost about to get him, but not quite. The baby cougar is confused, then entranced, then delighted.

As they wave goodbye to the cougars, Judy swats at Nick. "You've been holding out. Where did you pick up those mad baby whispering skills?"

"Carrots. What kind of assumption is that? Just because I don't make it a habit to hang out with thousands upon thousands of kids like you?" He softens at her knitted brow. "C'mon. I pretended to be Finnick's dad for almost 10 years. I had to make it look _somewhat_ convincing."

As he goes to offer the next family a round of donut holes, careful not to approach the small sheep too quickly, she smiles at his attempt at nonchalance.

Because Judy knows the reason Nick doesn't hang out with kids. It's not that he's scared of them. He's scared for them.

She knows Nick believes in their work, but he also thinks that without the police, most adults could take care of themselves. But he has _so little_ faith that adults could take care of their kids. Or that even he could.

When they're on a call, she can sense in her bones how his anxiety and fear for any children who might be present overwhelms him. He's always the first to check for them when entering a building, the first to rush to them at the scene of an accident.

On patrol, he sees children everywhere. Especially the ones nobody else sees. Judy wonders sometimes if he even notices the adults on their beat, he's so preoccupied with making sure every cub and kit is okay.

In those moments, she's the only one who notices his mask of nonchalance slipping back on, his relief palpable after everyone has been cared for. And she wonders what would happen if some of that fear could be shaken loose and replaced by more faith.

And sometimes in those moments, a picture comes to her mind unbidden. There's a blue sky, a green meadow, and a red fox with a bundle of white fur swaddled to his back. She never lets herself notice that the meadow is the same as her own childhood backyard.

 _Oh, Nick,_ she thinks, _if only you had more faith._

But then another thought bubbles to the surface, light as a baby cottontail. _Good thing I've got enough faith to spare._

\-----

"See, you're old enough now that you can pass her toys from your side!"

The young weasel scowls. "I hate sharing."

"Good instincts, kid." Nick sees Judy roll her eyes at him, but she keeps going, of course.

"You're like a superhero to her. Superbrother!" Judy says. Nick watches the weasel consider this, then hand his baby sister some toys scattered on the backseat.

Nick shakes his head. "Way to manage his expectations, Carrots. And hers."

She brushes past him towards a group of mice and starts explaining a fun game she's invented to ensure they line up neatly by height. They're sorted out in 15 seconds flat, smiling and saluting at her by the end of it.

It's a shame, Nick thinks, that kids aren't part of Judy's life plan. He knows they're not, because he's seen the 40-year life plan. Heard it and seen it -- in all its PowerPoint glory.

He watches her patiently teach an 8-year-old wolf how to thread his seatbelt through the booster seat. To her, every cub is a limitless fountain of potential. Her natural enthusiasm turns into flat-out, frightening zeal whenever a school group comes through. No question is too silly, no small voice too quiet for those huge ears to hear.

And then his mind wanders back to those heartbreaking cases, the ones where the kids involved just have no voice at all. That's when he witnesses Judy's determination at its steeliest -- when she's fighting tooth and nail behind the scenes for these kids, for their rights. Fighting so fiercely that he wants to cry himself at the feeling of relief, of security, that these kids might finally have if they knew Judy Hopps was in their corner.

And sometimes when _that_ happens, when he feels the tears rising, he can't help but flash on Judy curled in a rocking chair, holding a snugly wrapped bundle with red fur peeking out of the top, singing in her terrible -- God, _so_ terrible -- off-key voice. Singing a tune that could make even the most vulnerable creature feel love, love, loved. And he never admits to himself that the walls behind her are painted the same color as his bedroom.

But kids aren't part of her life plan. Nick can almost hear her line of thinking, selfless as always -- _why take care of two or three kits, or even 275, if she can help take care of_ every _kid in Zootopia?_ And he knows she'll die trying.

Then another line of thinking tugs at Nick, like a mischievous kit on his sleeve. _Life plans can change. Who knows that better than me?_

\-----

"Was it just cuteness overload? I bet it was. Tell me!" Clawhauser bounds to their desk at day's end.

"The youth of Zootopia are riding safe again. And Officer Hopps inspired countless young citizens."

"Thank you, Officer Wilde. I'm going to take that at face value and ignore any hint of sarcasm you may have intended. Only because your child diversionary tactics were truly astonishing."

"Awwwwwwww. So can I help put these back in the equipment room?"

Clawhauser gestures to the practice carseats, still circling their desk.

Nick and Judy look at the seats. Then each other. Then Clawhauser.

They answer in unison. 

"Leave them here for now."

**Author's Note:**

> Thought of this during, well, carseat inspection. I own nothing.


End file.
